I've Always Made A Point Of Not

A Man Is Not A Bird, To Come And Go With The Springtime.

Most Of The Time We Settle For Half And I Like It Better, Even As I Know How Wrong He Was And His Death Useless, I Tremble For I Confess That Something Peversley Pure Calls To Me From His Memory

Like Every Writer, I Am Asked Where My Work Originates, And If I Knew I Would Go There More Often To Find More.

A Playwright... Is... The Litmus Paper Of The Arts. He's Got To Be, Because If He Isn't Working On The Same Wave Length As The Audience, No One Would Know What In Hell He Was Talking About.

An Era Can Be Said To End When Its Basic Illusions Are Exhausted.